A Thieving Interest
by LadyDragon1316
Summary: She's been a thief her entire life. She just came to Skyrim in search of something interesting. And, with the help of a certain red-haired thief, she just might find it. (no Dovahkiin)
1. The Newcomer

**My first solely Skyrim fanfic. Unattached to any of my other works. I felt the  
need to give my snarky side life. And this character is the result. Enjoy.**

_Riften. Somebody puts up a few ratty buildings on top of a sewer system, adds a jarl and calls it a city. Puh!_

She'd seen better outfits abandoned in the wilderness. And they didn't smell of mildew and fish.

_The sooner I get out of here, the better. No point hanging around a place that's barely hanging on at all._

What had even brought her to this end of Skyrim anyway?

_Oh, yeah. Boredom. _

Or rather a flying escape from boredom. But, looking at the walls of the ramshackle city as she passed into it through the gates, she couldn't help but grimace.

_Gods, I have got to get out of here. There's bound to be something interesting in this icepack province. But I'm sure not going to find it here._

The Redguard woman tucked the tail end of her hood securely over her shoulder and trudged through the streets, avoiding making eye contact with anyone. Her armor was made primarily of ragged leather, pieced together from bits. There were a few metal plates wedged in for added protection. The whole of it was travel worn and stained with just about every byproduct of the wilds an average folk could think of. And a few they'd rather not. The satchel over her shoulder was similar in make: ragged and made of scraps itself. Though small, it was a bulky. But she carried no coin purse, no bedroll and no trace of dependency.

The woman stepped lightly through Riften, weaving between buildings and around people like a ghost. She courted no interest, either negative or positive. But, while she spared no attention to anything or anyone, she kept a critical eye on her surroundings like she was used to watching for trouble. She did carry a few weapons: a sturdy hunting bow hung across her back and two ebony daggers were strapped to her hips. The daggers appeared to be the only things of value that she owned.

The unassuming Redguard made her way into the city and bee-lined for the forge as soon as she spotted it, walking straight through the marketplace without giving any of the stalls or their purveyors a second glance.

The blacksmith was hard at work, crafting some blade or other. The woman made her demand before the man could even give a greeting.

"I want access to your forge. And some horse hide leather. Got any?"

The blacksmith's leather face dropped to a frown at the brusqueness of his customer's opening. "Well, that depends on if you have coin to go along with that attitude of yours."

A hand disappeared into her pocket and came out pinching a small, bright amethyst between her fingers. "This should cover it. And my attitude. So?"

He reached out his hand and the woman dropped the gem into his palm. The Nord eyed the gem, a little uncertainly, as he was no judge of jewels. "Yeah… Should. I got the leather inside. You wanted horse hide?"

"That's right."

The blacksmith came to a decision. "Alright. How much?"

"A couple square feet. And use of your forge."

The man pocketed the gem and nodded, a little more pleasant with the woman after her offering. "Anything else?"

"Yeah," she replied. "Privacy." She glanced grimly around the open setting of the forge, positioned near the city's bustling market center. "But I guess I'll have to live with this."

The Nord blacksmith went into the building for her request while the woman dropped the pack off her shoulder and yanked it open. The bulk that had been shoved inside proved to be some bits of metalwork. Steel mostly, with some pieces of Orcish. They weren't armor in their own right but had likely been torn off of a set.

The woman drew the pieces free and laid them out on the work table, one beside another. Then she yanked on the buckles of her leather patchwork cuirass, opening the front. By this time the blacksmith had returned with approximately half of what had once covered a horse's backside. The woman snatched it from him and turned back to her work without a word. The Nord frowned but didn't make a comment. He did, however, walk over to a nearby stall in the market to speak to an Argonian about the gem he'd been paid with.

In the meantime, the woman went to work. She took various pieces of the loose metalwork and pressed them here or there on her limbs, testing weight and shape. After an initial survey, she chucked a few pieces into the heat of the forge, sending embers leaping up into the air as the metal was embedded in the pile of red hot coals. Then she stripped off her cuirass and started tearing out stitches.

She kept up the work, taking apart parts of her leathers, measuring, and cutting apart the tanned hide. When the pieces of metal she'd tossed in the forge were hot enough, she pulled on the apron hanging by the forge and reached in with the tongs. Piece by piece, she pulled them out, hammering adjustments and plunging them into the water trough. She checked the fit when they were cool enough to touch. Some went back into the fire, others to the workbench.

She hammered, fitted, nailed, and stitched. The intent was to integrate more of these metal pieces into her leather cuirass amongst those already fixed into her armoring. Some existing pieces were taken out; some moved to accommodate new companions. The Redguard stayed bent to her task, ignoring the blacksmith when he returned and anyone who came by to watch the smiths at their tasks.

One spectator got in closer than the others.

Feeling the unwelcome eyes, the Redguard glanced up from the workbench at a Nord who was leaning against the nearby wall, watching her work with a disingenuous smile. She didn't give him more than that glance and returned her focus to what she was doing. There was no time for anything else if she was going to get out of here before the day was done. It wasn't that she didn't have the coin, or the potential for coin, to spend the night in town. It was more that she lacked the interest.

"Might be easier if you had some newer material."

The Redguard didn't even look up at the man who'd spoken. "Beat it, conman."

She'd gotten an initial look him in the market place on her way in. She knew the type. He pawned his latest wares, sporting his 'silver tongue' to sell rather than the actual value of his products, which were usually worthless. His tongue must have been pretty sterling considering he looked well established in his market stall even though he was selling… What had she heard in the background? Falmer Blood Elixir?

She nearly snorted aloud at the thought. Falmer. Fal-mer. Snow-elves. Falmer were mer, plain and simple. Not some beastie whose fat could cure rockjoint. Whatever was in those bottles was probably about as useful as a spoon in a bar fight. There had to be some stupid people in this town to fall for that.

_And by his face and posture now, he apparently fancies himself a ladies' man, too. Explains why he's in my space. Lucky me._

"Just offering a suggestion, lass. No need to get defensive."

"Well, go offer it somewhere else. I'm busy."

She flipped the cuirass over to check the inner stitching of the piece she'd just fitted in. Then she reached for the leather to size up some padding so she wouldn't get chafed. The man, however, did not go away.

"I could offer you more than that, lass."

"I'm sure," she quipped offhand, not looking up. That was supposed to be an indication of disinterest. He didn't get the message.

"You seem a bit light in your pockets, lass. I could help with that, too. If you were interested."

The Redguard looked up and took a proper look at him. He was handsome, for a Nord. Not that she ever gave a flying leap about that. He had the usual rugged features that his race was known for. The usual large, broad frame. His flaming red hair was a slight difference and was cut just above his shoulders, and his circle beard was trimmed short and precisely.

He was wearing some fine clothes, too. But she could see tiny stains at the bottom hem and the wear marks around his elbows and at the collar. The outfit was kept in good shape, but it wasn't new. And, although the man maintained himself cleaner than most, he still smelled a bit like sewage. He wasn't nearly as well off as he was trying to pretend he was. Her lip twitched in flighty sneer. She didn't much like conmen.

The woman dropped the leather without cutting it and strode past the Nord to the forge without glancing at him. The piece she was going to put on her right bicep should be heated enough to manipulate. All she needed was to bend the sides in a little. So the Redguard threw on the apron and grabbed up the tongs to go fishing.

The Nord took her lack of direct refusal as an acceptance rather than an dismissal. "I've got a little errand to perform. I could use an extra pair of hands." The man leaned toward her enticingly. "And in my line of work, lass, extra hands are well paid."

The Redguard woman scoffed aloud. "Money? That's what you're going with?" She dug out the piece she'd been looking for, turning it on the coals to check the glow of the metal, hoping it was hot enough to start hammering on.

"This is a golden opportunity, lass," he persisted, shadowing her movements a bit more closely as she shifted the piece with the tongs. "I'd hate to see you miss out. And if done right, this little errand would be just a taste of things to come."

"More gold, you mean?"

"That's right, lass." And he gave her a smile that he must have expected to be completely disarming. Did this actually work for him?

The woman had had enough of this one. She whirled on him, brandishing the heated metal piece that was still pinched on the end of her tongs right in front of his face, the metal glowing orange from the heat it carried.

"Let me tell you a little something about gold, conman. Gold is intrinsically worthless. It takes dozens of coins to buy anything of value, so its only significance is the manufactured one that society gave it when people decided to start using the stuff as a base commodity. It's useless for anything else. Soft. Can't hold its shape or stand up under any sort of pressure. Inherently weak!"

She waved her heated weapons as she spoke. The man's enticing gaze was gone, his eyes slightly widened and with a barest hint of anxiety, his pupils now fixed on the searing metal piece rather than the woman holding it. The attention was warranted, the searing material flitted about inches in front of his face, the heat wafting over his skin as it passed. One pass was close enough that he actually took a step away from it. And when he did, she advanced on him.

"Gold is heavy," she continued, driving him backwards, as fiery as her weapon of choice. "It weighs you down; robs you of speed and dexterity worse than heavy armor. Gold is loud. A bag of coin becomes an alarm better than dogs or guards. And it's a better trap than anything the Dwemer or the Ayleids ever built. Gold catches the light, shines and glints whether you want it to or not. Gold _begs _for attention like you are _begging _for mine. And, like you, I find it irritating and _boring_."

The Nord reached the last of his available space and his back struck the wall behind him with an audible bump. The Redguard woman halted when he did, holding her armor piece before his nose at just the right distance that he felt the heat without receiving a burn. "If I had any interest in gold, I'd get it myself. But I don't. I live like I do because I choose to. Now I'd suggest you go find someone else to run your little 'errand', and leave me be."

She glared hard at the man while he looked back with some bewilderment. Then her eyes shifted to the metal piece she'd been brandishing. Her glare became a concentrated scrutiny. She drew the piece back and gave the metal piece a brief pinch. The glare returned and she cursed to find it too cold to work. She spun on the spot, stalked over to the forge and shoved the piece back into the coals, giving the bellows a few good pumps to stir heat before dropping the tongs and turning back to the leather she'd been sizing up, the man now utterly forgotten.

Well, not 'utterly'. She paid him just enough mind to notice when he ventured out from where she'd cornered him and back to his stall. That was when she put him out of her mind.

Gold. He'd actually come at her offering gold. She had to give him some credit. He had read her well enough to know she was approachable about some unlawful activity. But gold? Yeah—_no_!

The woman grumbled in frustration. She had to get out of here. The one interesting thing that happened and it turned out to be an interesting opening to something that was still boring. She had to get out of this town. Find something interesting to do.

XXX

Brynjolf went back to his stall and resumed advertising his elixir to the townsfolk, but he kept that newcomer in the corner of his eye. She was something else. He knew better than to approach her again now. She needed some time to cool down. The way she called him 'conman' told him he'd had little chance of getting off on the right foot with her. The proof being in how she'd driven him off.

But he wasn't giving up on this one, in part, for the sake of his ego. But mostly because of what she'd said while threatening him with that heated piece of armor. How she'd described gold. The qualities she'd focused on. Gold 'weighed you down', 'caught the light', how it 'turned into an alarm'. That was how he knew he was right about this one. She was not only made for their sort of work, but she knew it well.

Although, he'd never met a thief who wasn't interested in gold at all. He'd have to come up with something else to persuade her. But he had the time. She wasn't nearly done with the armor she was piecing together. He'd approach her again tonight at the Bee and Bard when the forge and the market closed up for the night. Offer her a drink, apologize, and make his offer from a different direction. Brynjolf would have to be at his best. This one knew the work. She wouldn't fall for any of his usual tricks. But nor could he let her slip through his fingers. The Guild needed talented new blood, and he suspected she was that.

The sun crossed the sky as the day passed. When the world darkened, the market folk cleared out and the sales folk closed up. Brynjolf drew out his closing, watching for when the woman quitted the forge. She'd finished buffing the polish off of the visible metal pieces, leaving them dull to the light, further assuring Brynjolf of what he'd seen in her. She pulled the cuirass over her body, then flexed and seemed satisfied. She was done with her work and ready to retire.

Except she didn't head for the Bee and Bard as he'd expected. Instead, she picked up her pack and made her way over the canal, past the Honorhall orphanage and straight toward the south exit of the city. Brynjolf cursed to himself. He'd misjudged her. Again. She wasn't going to spend the night in the city. She was leaving. And he had to move fast.

The Nord abandoned his plan and jogged for the Temple of Mara. He needed to get down to the Cistern and get his armor before he ventured outside the walls. He could use the Ratway to get out of the city and on her trail before she went too far. And it had to be quick. Something told him he couldn't afford to let this one get away.

**Hope you liked it. I certainly like writing her. This is gonna be fun!**


	2. The Fireside

**My intent is to keep these chapters short. I'm having fun with this character.**

He hadn't been ten minutes. But in that short period of time, the Redguard woman vanished. The guard at the gate said he'd seen her turn west toward the lake but her trail quickly disappeared. Brynjolf cursed that he hadn't been quicker. The Nord proceeded into the wild an hour after her trail had vanished, keeping to the crest of the hills, not ready to give up pursuit just yet.

As the night advanced and the Magus gave up its last light to the darkness, a campfire in the hills along the lake became a beacon. Brynjolf made his way toward it instinctively. He kept low as he came over a ridge and looked down to see the fire burning merrily within a small ring of stones. Over the flames, a fish had been skewered and set to cook. And beside the fire, reclining on the ground with her meager pack behind her head, was the very woman he'd been tracking.

She still had her armor and hood securely on, despite the fact that she seemed to have settled in for the night. Even her daggers were still on her waist. The only things she'd removed were her pack and her bow and quiver, but all were within easy reach. Like this, she appeared to be just another hunter in the wild.

The man picked a path and overlook that would provide him a stealthy means to get closer, then made his move. He'd nearly achieved the position when he felt a trip wire give way against his calf. He barely registered the taut line before a branch came flying out of nowhere and swatted him right in the face. The switch was like a cat-of-nine-tails across his eyes and was so unexpected that Brynjolf couldn't quite muffle the sound that leapt from his throat. In the quiet of the evening, even that smallest of sounds gave him away.

"Beat it, conman. There's nothing for you here."

Brynjolf dropped the attempted stealth and stood up, massaging the sting to his skin and pride. But instead of heeding her demand, he stepped over the twine tripwire he'd triggered and out of the underbrush into the light of her fire.

"You got me good there, lass," he admitted.

She didn't even look up. "Yeah, I heard you yelp like a whipped pup. But I figured a dog would be too smart to try and sneak up on me."

The man came forward and lowered himself down to the ground across the fire from her.

"Go. Away."

But he just sat there and tried to get another judge of the woman.

Brynjolf hadn't seen skin as dark as hers before. It rivaled even the darkness of the Dunmer shades; almost black. When she spoke, the brief glimpses of the pink of her mouth and white of her teeth were hard to miss. Her eyes were another story, although the woman did not deign to turn them on him now. Brynjolf had to admit, those eyes were hard to look away from: black, hawk-like, and hard as steel. He wondered if her vision was as keen as that of a bird of prey. Her mind was certainly sharp enough.

"How'd you know where to set the trap?" he asked. There were other ways he could have chosen to approach from.

She sat up but didn't give him an answer. "I already told you to beat it, conman."

"I'm just lookin' for a friendly conversation, lass."

"Uh-huh." She pulled a steel shiv from her boot and tested the fish. Finding it satisfactory she lifted her meal off the fire and began stripping away the skin. "Look, conman, whatever you think you came here to say, I'm not interested. Not in you, not in your town, and not in your little band."

"Who says I've got a band, lass?" he inquired.

"Please," she scoffed. "You're nowhere near good enough to be a freelancer." Once the skin was gone and fed to the fire, she began removing portions of the fish and eating them almost delicately off the end of her shiv. "Whatever you've got going on, keep it to yourself. I'm. Not. Interested."

"You haven't even heard my offer."

"I don't have to. The fact that you led with gold? You're a generic conman. Not interesting. And not in my league."

Brynjolf raised his eyebrow. "You so sure about that, lass?"

"Yeah, I am." She made short work of the fish and let the bones drop into the fire along with the stick it had cooked on.

Brynjolf kept his cool and persisted. "And what if I could prove you wrong?"

"You couldn't."

"What if I could?"

The Redguard raised an eyebrow at him, the firelight glinting in those black, hawk eyes. "You couldn't handle what I've got." It wasn't said to entice, but as a warning.

Brynjolf returned the look with all due seriousness. "Try me."

They stared at each other over the fire, the red-haired thief holding steady under the piercing gaze of the one he was trying to win over. He had a few ideas if he could just get her to admit a bit of interest.

The woman glared at him with those hawk-eyes. Then she shifted. Brnjolf watched as she tugged her pack onto her shoulder and then picked up her bow and stood. The Nord stayed where he was, trying to anticipate what was coming.

The woman smirked. "Well then, conman…let's see if you can keep up." The fire was doused with a burst of frost magic and she bounded into the dark. Brynjolf scrambled to his feet immediately and took off after her.

**And they're off! We'll see where this goes. And if Brynjolf can handle it.**


	3. The Climb

**Next chapter. Here we go.**

It was a fast paced chase. The Redguard woman darted through the wilds, winding around trees and bushes leaving a barley discernable disturbance behind. She kept her footing up slopes and rocky outcrops. Brynjolf was hard pressed just to keep pace.

More than once she seemed to disappear on him, the night swallowing up her dark clothing and skin. Brynjolf was left to halt in place, gasping and looking desperately around for a sign of her direction. Then he'd catch a glimpse of her somewhere in the shadows of the Rift and the chase would continue. The man couldn't even tell if these instances were a testament of his skills of observation or not. He half suspected that she was _letting_ him follow her. Giving him just enough that he wouldn't lose her.

In Riften, Brynjolf had been planning to bring her in for the job on Brand-Shei, just to test her skills. At the campfire, he'd thought to entice her into a few burglaries to give her a taste of the thrill of thievery. Now she'd turned the tables on him. Out here, in the middle of the Rift, _she_ was testing _him_; putting him through his paces. But, oddly enough, that just spurred him on. It wasn't a job where his luck might run out at any moment. If she really wanted to see what he could do, Brynjolf was going to give it his all.

The pursuit took them northward. Over a measure of hours, Brynjolf saw more of the Redguard. She slowed up, didn't vanish as often and the space between them diminished to about fifty feet. Their chase slowed to a traveling pace and stayed there. In the wee hours of the morning they passed Shor's Stone and kept going. The Redguard seemed to just be meandering toward the north. Brynjolf had the impression that one leg of this test was over, but that she wasn't done with him yet. So he followed without speaking, his curiosity about her intensions piqued.

They traveled in the shadow of the mountains while the sky brightened. Then, as the Magus broke fully over the peaks to their right, the Redguard halted and looked up almost directly into the light. Then she turned straight up the mountain, a determined smile on her face.

She wasn't carrying that attitude from before. During their initial meeting, and even their conversation at the fireside, the woman had been rather harsh with him. But out here, she was different. She was more energetic, her step was light. _She likes being out here,_ he realized. And now that she seemed to have picked out a destination on the mountain, she was even smiling. Brynjolf liked that smile better than her glare.

The two of them continued up the mountain, finding a beaten path during their ascent. Brynjolf's legs started to burn and he resolved to keep himself in better shape from now on. Trecking up a mountain required different muscles than burglary. His stomach also reminded him, softly, that he hadn't eaten since the day before. Regret was close on its heels as Brynjolf wished he'd thought to put a small pack together before leaving Riften. Not that he'd thought they'd do anything but return to the city.

His companion angled her head to glance at him, as if she'd heard his stomach growl. "Hungry there, conman?"

Brynjolf hesitated, but then admitted, "I didn't expect to be going far when I came after you."

She smirked a little and kept going. After a couple of minutes, she leaned down and plucked a purple flower from among the foliage which she then turned to offer. "Here. Eat this." He looked uncertainly between her and the plant. "Don't be a snob. Just pop it in. Chew it up. They're edible. And it'll do you good." As if to prove her point she did exactly that, tucking the mountain flower into her mouth and chewing with a smile before she turned up the slope.

The Redguard kept picking flowers as they went. "Stick with the blue and the purple ones. And I'd grab them now. They won't be growing at the higher elevations." Then she paused again, something in the wood catching her eye. "Or better yet…"

The woman headed off the path. Brynjolf glanced at one of said flowers. He leaned down and tugged the stalk free of the plant, eyeing the colored petals. He wasn't used to foraging in the rough. But, with an empty stomach serving as encouragement, he opened his mouth and bit the flower off the stalk. It didn't taste terrible, but it wasn't something he'd strictly call food either. Still, it was better than nothing. So he took her at her word and grabbed a few more, then went in the direction the woman had gone.

She wasn't far. And as he got closer, Brynjolf heard a buzzing sound. As it turned out, she was on approach to a beehive.

"Keep a little back, conman," she said without turning her head. "This won't be but a moment."

Brynjolf watched intently as she stepped closer to the active hive and its subsequent population of stinging bees. She moved furtively, distributing her weight smoothly from one foot to the other nearer the hive. She made a sort of 'pish, pish' sound under her breath that Brynjolf found soothing to the ear. So did the bees. Even when she came in close and laid a hand on the hive, they paid her no mind. In fact, the bees nearest her seemed to be flying almost drowsily.

The Redguard drew out one of her ebony daggers and cut into the structure. She did so gently and was careful not disturb the hive unnecessarily. Brynjolf couldn't see exactly what she was doing, but a moment later she removed a good sized piece of honeycomb.

She stepped back from the hive, licking her fingers and walked back over to offer him the honeycomb, a few of the drowsy bees lifting off her arms and going back to work around their hive. "Here, conman. Eat that. And your greens. Not sure when we'll next find food."

He took the honey comb, still dripping gold. "And what about you?"

The Redguard shrugged. "I'll graze as we go." She looked back at the hole that was her handiwork. "Besides, if I take any more from that hive, they won't be able to rebuild before the temperature drops for the season. Now eat up. We've still got a ways to go."

"And where are we going?"

"Up," she replied, licking the residual honey from her fingers.

And up they went.

**Tehe! I find it just so much fun to muck with Brynjolf. He may be 2nd in  
command of the Thieves Guild, but he's such a city boy.**


	4. The Trolls

**Big thanks to Repossessme and T.S. Hills for being such fantastic betas.**

They continued to climb the mountainside as the sun crossed the sky. On occasion Brynjolf's companion would veer off and harvest some mushrooms from the base of a tree or more of the mountain flowers, grazing as they went. Brynjolf wasn't experienced in this sort of wilderness survival, but he did feel better with something solid in his stomach. And it wasn't as if he hadn't had hungry days in his life.

It got colder as they climbed. The vegetation grew sparse, and a thin layer of snow began to accumulate. They skirted an old derelict tower and had to climb a significant rock outcrop. She found a path up the side. It wasn't until they had passed under a slab of stone that Brynjolf recognized a degree of masonry around them. The ridge was weathered, but it had been carved by hand. When they came around the side of the outcrop, he saw a long set of stairs some way up the slope. So she really did have a destination in mind, after all.

Brynjolf's legs were screaming at him by the top of the flight of stairs. His curiosity and pride had carried him this far, but with the difficult ascent and the cold and the honeycomb long behind… Every man had his breaking point. "How much further?" he asked.

She looked up the way, angling her head to glimpse around some distant obstruction. "Not sure." She turned and grinned at him, her smile a dazzling contrast to her dark skin. "Getting tired there, conman?"

The thief braced heavily on his knees, breathing hard. "You're not?"

She planted her fists on her hips and looked boldly over the height they'd already conquered. "It _has _been quite a climb. But I do this kind of thing often." She cocked her head at him. "Clearly you don't." After a few seconds, she said, "You can take a couple minutes breather, if you want. I don't think our destination's going anywhere."

He might have asked again what that destination was, but Brynjolf was just too happy for the opportunity to sit down for a moment. It wasn't just the climb, but the climate. His Nord blood gave him a natural resistance to the cold, but that didn't mean he was used to it. Most of the Rift was temperate, and he didn't travel to other cities very often. Certainly not often enough to be experienced with alternative environments or know which wild plants were safe to eat.

"You know—you never told me—your name," Brynjolf said between deep breaths.

"Neither did you," she replied, still surveying the landscape.

Brynjolf turned on the step to face her. "I'm Brynjolf." He was sure to couple the introduction with a winning smile, hoping it wasn't too broken by the flush of exertion.

The smile had no more of an effect on her than the one he'd given her in Riften.

"That's nice. You ready to keep going? It's gonna get really cold up here after dark. We should get there before that."

Brynjolf had to stand and hurry after her as the Redguard trotted off up the slope again.

"So—what is your name?"

She tossed a smirk over her shoulder. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

"I wouldn't ask—if I didn't, lass," he retorted with a tilted smile of his own.

"You sure about that?" She turned forward, abruptly cutting off their banter with a slight increase in pace. Brynjolf didn't have breath for much else but following at this point, but the brief exchange of wit was a pleasant change from their previous conversations.

A couple hundred feet later, after she had slowed down once again and Brynjolf was breathing somewhat normally, he asked, "So where are we going?"

The Redguard shrugged. "I don't know."

The Nord halted mid-step. "You don't—?" Was she teasing him? "Then what are we doing up here?"

She looked back but did not slow her pace. "Well I know why _I'm_ up here. I have no idea about you."

Brynjolf was momentarily dumbfounded. He'd followed her all the way up here on the challenge she'd issued at the fireside. He'd assumed she'd had some kind of plan to all this. She still might. He just couldn't get a read on her.

The man took a breath to question her further but she stopped and held up a hand to silence him. The smile was gone; she looked intently at the rock slopes around them, her whole demeanor taut and at the ready. Brynjolf listened with her, picking out the gusts over the edge of each ridge around them, the rush through sparse brush and distant trees, the rushing snow being blown across the ground. But he couldn't pick out what she was—

Something grunted from atop a ledge to their left. Brynjolf looked up at a humanoid creature with elongated arms, covered in coarse hair the color of icy stone, with three beady, black eyes glaring down at them. A frost troll. It grunted forcefully and leapt up and down on the spot, pounding its powerful fists on the ground in a display of aggression.

The Redguard opened her hand and waved Brynjolf back as subtly as possible while she herself took careful steps away from the creature on its overlook. "No sudden movements. We're in his space. We'll backtrack, find another way up—"

Another sound came from atop the cliff at their back. Another frost troll bared its teeth and roared at them.

"Shit," the woman said blandly. Then, as a third frost troll appeared at the top of the next flight of stairs, she amended her curse. "Triple shit."

Brynjolf yanked out his dwarven daggers as the troll behind them finally got fed up with their proximity and leapt down from the ledge toward them.

"Down, conman!"

Brynjolf dropped into a crouch on impulse before the troll lunged and an arrow sailed over his head, burying itself in the joining between the troll's shoulder and neck. It turned and roared at source of its pain. Brynjolf twisted just enough to see the Redguard woman standing a dozen feet up the slope from him with a second arrow notched and pulled to the ready. Before the troll could loose its aggression on her, a second arrow flew straight and true into the gaping maw, punching out of the back of its neck.

In one fluid motion, she turned on a heel and drew a third arrow, bringing the fletching to her cheek as the tip aligned with the beast that was presently charging down the stairs toward her. The arrow was loosed without hesitation and found a home in the troll's center eye, leaving the creature to collapse and ragdoll down the remaining steps to her feet.

The Redguard sidestepped the corpse and drew a fourth arrow, turning to aim for the third troll as it descended the narrow crags of the nearly sheer cliff in leaps and bounds. She caught it in the chest in midair and the beast toppled the remaining distance into an unmoving heap at the base of the cliff. The whole attack couldn't have lasted more than a minute and every foe lay dead around them.

Brynjolf turned on the woman and admitted wholeheartedly, "That was amazing, lass." Three trolls in less than sixty seconds, two one-shot kills. She could give Niruin a run for his money, easily.

But the woman did not react to his praise. She lowered the bow slowly and stood frowning at the corpse at her feet. The Nord was uncertain.

"Lass?"

She didn't look at him. She just kept frowning.

"Such a waste." The words were said so quietly that Brynjolf barely heard her. She stiffened before the man could say anything. "Still a couple hours to go. You coming?" She didn't wait for an answer, but resolutely mounted the flight of stairs ahead of them, her witty demeanor vanished on the wind.

Brynjolf went after her, wondering what about the attack had so affected her.

**Thanks for reading. See you all next chapter.**

***After-note: As much as I love the idea I started with, looking back, I find my execution to be lacking. Yeah, it's fun to work with a character who is immune to Brynjolf's silver tongue. But in the process, I have dumbed the poor guy down. And considering how much he'll be involved in the proceedings, that is unacceptable.**

**I will return to this fic in the future and likely rewrite the encounters. Brynjolf is second-in-command of the Thieves Guild. I regret turning him into such a lemming.**

**Thank you for reading. I will return to this in the future.***


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